The End Song (Formerly known as Save Me from Myself)

Chapter One

There are things in this life that don't bother me like they would anyone else. For instance: going into the lunch area of work to grab a cup of coffee after a particularly hard period of teaching and seeing the carafe is empty – yeah, that doesn't bother me. Spilling a red wine on my new white blouse? There's ways of lifting the stain. I'll live. Eating alone? Going to the movies alone? Easy. Even the tear in my favorite hooded sweatshirt didn't upset me – it wasn't like I wore it anywhere but in the comforts of my own home, anyway.

But then you have the things that do bother me: abandoned animals left at shelters after living multiple years with an owner and just left because they were replaced with a newer, younger pet – there's a special place in hell for those people. Wet socks. I hate socks in general, but man, does this issue in particular really drive me up a wall. Oh, and being stood up for a date from a man you didn't even know existed until the day before.

I will thank the unmentioned third party for even introducing me to the idea of this "alleged" blind date. Possibly with a glass of the red wine that I have in my hand on his shirt. It was his idea, his friend, after all.

... Nah. I like wine too much.

Glancing once more at my watch (man, did it itch my wrist – why did I decide to wear something I never wore anyway?) to check the time – yep, still late. Now, instead of him being 40 minutes past not showing up, he was now 45 minutes past that. I would pay top dollar to bet that he was just not going to show. I glanced at my phone, lighting up the screen to see if there were any notifications or text messages from him (spoiler alert: there wasn't) and sighed – not out of sadness, but of annoyance – I spent 45 minutes of my time standing by this Christmas tree he told me to wait for him by and lost those minutes when I could have been conversing, enjoying the company I actually had surrounding me; maybe drinking more wine, also.

I mean, it was a Christmas party, after all; drinking the good stuff was expected.

I glanced to my right back at the Christmas tree – it an artificial one in a beautiful lighter green color with white lights and a simple star at the top of the tree – while it was simple, it was beautiful and full. At least it kept me company.

Because inanimate objects are the best conversationalists in the world.

I said a silent goodbye to said tree, maneuvering myself through the small group of people that were in the front room and towards the back, where a small makeshift stage was set up and the party host, also known as the "blind date matchmaker" sat, leaning up against the doorframe of the room, his girlfriend standing next to him as they both drank out of red solo cups decorated in holiday attire.

Very classy.

Music had been playing ever since I came, but since I was supposed to meet the no-show, I was unaware that it had been actual live music until my eyes settled on the man just across the room from me, sitting on a stool with one foot woven through the rung of the stool and the other firmly planted on the ground, eyes shut as he sang an unfamiliar Christmas tune.

He was cute. Really cute. Probably about my age (28 ... ish) or a few years older and had some seriously broad shoulders. I couldn't see much else because of the lighting (yet another Christmas tree in this room served as one of the two lights, the other being the strands of Christmas lights around the room) but I could tell his hair was dark – perhaps a darker brown – not in the black-hued family – and it rested just below his ears in a shag that you'd see on surfers or drummers who didn't care to grow their hair out long-slash-were growing their hair out long.

"Hey!"

Ah, yes, the "matchmaker" speaks. I smirked, making a few steps to close in on him. "Hey, yourself!"